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There’s Always a Story

July 17, 2009

The Recycled house is going to be very well insulated. We’re using this styrofoam stuff called Greenguard all over the place and it gets expensive.  Builder Scott mentions to me that one of the guys on our crew, whom we’ll call Bobby, knows a guy who just happens to have some he wants to get rid of. Scott says that Bobby says we can get a “whole mess of it” for $200. So, just to make sure, we call around and sure enough, a whole mess of this stuff is significantly more expensive at the usual places we buy materials. Bobby says that his guy will take $200 in cash or $225 if I pay with a check.

This “he only takes cash” thing keeps coming up, and I’m sick of it. So I write a check to Bobby’s guy for $200, and tell Scott to give it to him and if he won’t take it, forget about it. Scott likes to come in my house at the end of the workday, plop himself in the comfy chair in my office and jaw for a while. It doesn’t matter if I’m in the middle of working. It doesn’t matter if I’m on the phone with a client. He just waits. Usually he’s updating me on stuff they got done that day, but most of the time that’s simply a prelude to brandishing a list of stuff he needs along with his hand out for my credit card or a check.

I originally had a home equity line that was supposed to finance this project. When that ran out, I applied for an increase. Due to the unfolding mortgage crisis, the bank only gave me half of what I asked for. When that was gone, I dipped into my rainy day money, spare cash in my brokerage account, my secret emergency stash, and then just started paying from my own earnings and praying that each week I would find enough money to pay for materials and labor. Then, I borrowed money from my mother, which I swore I wouldn’t do. Then, I decided to re-fi my house. Bank of America has taken its sweet time to do me. I applied for my loan on April 16, 2009. It’s now July 16 and still, no closing date. They say that I’m supposed to close before the end of August, but as of today, I don’t have anyone assigned to do me. I could turn this post into a long, angry rant about how I’ve been treated by Bank of America but I’ll spare you.

So, back to the story. Scott barges in, plops in the chair, and tells me he got the insulation. We were speculating earlier that it was so cheap because it probably “fell off a truck” somewhere, and I ask Scott if that was the case. He tell me that Bobby’s guy, whom we’ll call Wilbur, was living in a house with his girlfriend which was owned by her father. Wilbur is a very experienced construction guy and was fixing it up in exchange for rent. Scott says the house was in bad shape and that Wilbur was doing a bang-up job. According to Wilbur, he left for work one day and was barely out of the driveway (we’re talking about a rural area here, and the driveway can stretch quite a distance) when he realized he forgot something, so he turned around and went back. He walked in the house and discovered his girlfriend in bed with her father. Wilbur was sufficiently grossed out by that he decided not to live there anymore. So he’s got a bunch of construction materials in the yard that he’s not going to put into a house that he doesn’t live in. So that’s how we got a mess of insulation for a song.

Next thing I know, I see a guy in my yard that I don’t recognize. He’s small, wiry, shirtless, nearly toothless, and he’s drinking beer from one of those oddly tall cans. I only see him from the back, but I instantly suspect that it must be Wilbur. When Scott barges and plops later that day, he confirms it. Has he hired Wilbur, I inquire. No, he hasn’t, because he might drink too much, but he does specialize in a skill we might need later, and he’d do a really bang-up job. 

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